


Being Evil Aint It's All Cracked Up To Be

by TheRogueLibrarian



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: -Author glances around sketchily-, ...euh... Magical Explanation lol, Author definitely didn't just insert Sterek relationship for no plausible reason, Derek is his mate, Flame Spark, I mean, Lots of death and torture and stuff, M/M, Reluctant and Slightly - nay Very - Homicidal Pack Mom Stiles Stilinski, Smut will be involved, Some weird excuse for why Sterek is involved here, Stiles hates having Derek as a mate, Stiles is evil, Stiles' Inner Voice is a Derek Hale Fanboy, This is a dark fic, Truemates?, soulmates?, very dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-05-31 01:56:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15109412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRogueLibrarian/pseuds/TheRogueLibrarian
Summary: When Stiles is freed from his possession (Nogistune) he gets let into a lot of information that changes his life forever. Watch as he descends into an evil sort of madness or a mad sort of evilness. And why the hell is Derek even involved at all? He's meant to be an evil overlord, he shouldn't have to deal with this crap.





	1. The beginning of the end (cliche I know)

Stiles wakes up. He's covered in sweat, writhing... somewhere. He doesn't know where he is. All he knows is it is dark and he cannot see. At least he thinks its dark. But, after a few moments black smoke is whisked out of his vision and he can see sunlight shining through the windows. The last thing he remembers was...

 

It all comes back to him. Death. So much death. And he was the one to kill them. Stiles vomits on the ground. He was the enemy this time. He was the monster. He shot coach with an arrow, he twisted the sword in Scott, he set off a bomb at the sheriff's station, he... he killed people. He enjoyed it. He felt powerful and brilliant and a genius. He is a monster.

 

He's so shocked. So... He can't explain it. He knows he should feel guilty. It is his duty to feel bad because he remembers all the terrible things he did. But, he feels... he feels... Stiles shakes his head.

 

“I am Stiles. I am good. I am Scott's friend. I do not kill.”

 

He can just pretend it never happened. But, first he needs to tell Scott that he's... well... not possessed. But, his phone is gone and he doesn't know where he is. Suddenly his train of thought is broken by a pain in his chest. Stiles coughs violently. That can't be good. Then he sees what he coughed up, he coughed out black smoke. What the fuck? The smoke starts to rise. It starts to turn into a figure. It is... It is him.

 

Stiles sees his other self. His eyes are dark and staring straight into his soul. What does he want? He stands, holds his arms out. What is he doing? Fire suddenly shoots towards him. What the fuck! Stiles dodges out of the way, still weak from his smoke vomiting. He crawls away looking frightened. Evil Stiles laughs,

 

“Poor puny Stiles can't fight without the big bad wolf. Well, it looks like your reliance will be your downfall.”

 

Stiles gasps as another burst of fire shoots near him. He dodges again, but this time it burns his shoulder. He pats it down before it can hurt his skin, but his top is ruined. How is this happening so quickly, progressing so fast? He knows he should be afraid but he's not... he's excited. Stiles gulps, he's probably just confused. He looks up again, working out courage to speak,

 

“Fuck you. You'll be surprised who wins this fight.”

 

Evil Stiles doesn't falter, his demon that possessed him doesn't falter. It just grins and shoots some more flames at him. Stiles knows what he has to do, he has to outsmart it. He has to use his surroundings to his advantage. Sure, Evil Stiles' weapon is shooting fucking flames but Actual Stiles' weapon is knowledge.

 

He looks around him. What can he do? He's in an abandoned warehouse, not very structurally sound, if only he could crush this Stiles. That would kill him, right? Stiles decides to make his move, the next time Evil Stiles shoots flames he will make it so it burns the supports above him. Its a dangerous move but Stiles doesn't really have any other choice. Evil Stiles breaks out into an evil monologue again,

 

“Well well well... Who would have thought that Stiles had a backbone after all? I always thought his 'friends' used him over and over. What a shame. You could have been... _useful_.”

 

And in that moment Stiles chooses to put his silly plan into action. He jumps into the air, pretending to pounce, and Evil Stiles instinctively shoots at him. Stiles dodges, seeming to swim in the air, and his flames hit a banister above him. Stiles needs to keep him distracted so he continues to swim about above him, almost pouncing, pretending he's missing.

 

Stiles falls to the ground. Energy gone. Evil Stiles smirks,

 

“Its a shame it had to end this way, that you had to die.”

 

Then Stiles laughs. He actually laughs in the face of a millennia old demon. He actually fucking laughs. This is either really brave or really stupid, but Stiles has to distract it, he has to keep it in place so that the support beam can crush it. It stares at him, confused. Quirks an eyebrow,

 

“What’s so funn...”

 

Then it gets crushed with the on-fire support beam. It tries to squirm under it but it has snapped its spine. It is paralysed. It screams,

 

“Why did I have to be cursed with such a fragile body that now I am paralysed from the neck down? You will pay for this mortal. I will come back and I will kill you.”

 

Stiles stands, leaning over it. In this moment he is just happy to be alive. He doesn't care about that feeling in the back of his mind, the one that is glad to be powerful, cunning, the one that is happy to have hurt someone. He doesn't notice this feeling because he is busy. He kneels down beside the creature and says, smiling,

 

“At least you can still talk. We do have a lot to talk about.”

 

Evil Stiles stares, confused yet again. What does this mortal know? He says,

 

“I may have misjudged you, mortal. I thought you would kill me straight away, or at least tell your friends that you aren't possessed any more. What do you want?”

 

Stiles grins. The creature stops for a second, what has he done to this mortal? How has this happened? He has not changed his mental faculties, this is of his own will. But why? Stiles says,

  
“I believe we can make a deal, you and I.”

 

“And what could you possibly have to offer.”

 

Stiles stands again, paces, smiles. Why is he smiling so much? He says,

 

“You seem to forget that _I_ am in control here. Sure, you can be of use to me, you can answer some questions. But, _I_ am the only one who can free you of this body. _I_ am the only one that can help you move on to a new body, in a new place, far away from here.”

 

Since when did this seventeen year old have such a morally grey outlook on life? That he thinks he can spare the life of the demon that possessed him? That he could kill him? That he could make a deal? Then he realises, his merging, it must have released his inner beast somehow. He decides to drop this, this is not of his concern. The sooner he can get out of this body the better. He says,

 

“I'm listening.”

 

Stiles leans against the wall, casually, fucking casually. Why is he acting like this right now? He's _meant_ to feel guilty and be recovering from a possession, but all he can think about is self preservation, knowledge, and power. What is he becoming? How is this happening? Stiles drops his fears and emotions and settles on a blank expression. He says,

 

“Its quite simple really. I need to understand some things and you need to die so you can live. I will kill you if you answer my questions. And then afterward we can leave this all behind us, I will forgive you for... um... using me as a murdering machine... and you can leave Beacon Hills without trouble. Sound good?”

 

Evil Stiles pauses. Contemplating. It sounds like a fair deal, and there isn't really much negotiation he can do. Stiles doesn't _need_ him. He could find all this out on his own. It just makes his life easier. The demon nods and says,

 

“What do you want to know?”

 

Stiles says,

 

“Firstly fuck you. But, that isn't really a question but I am really pissed that you would do this. Secondly, you shot flames. I dig that. That's cool. But, it doesn't really make sense because in your other mortal bodies you couldn't. So... does that mean _I_ can shoot flames? And if so that is fucking awesome, and also, how is that even possible?”

 

Evil Stiles gulps, he had hoped that Stiles was an idiot and he wouldn't have to reveal this. But, he can see that now, as Stiles is coming to terms with his condition, he will be able to find out the truth. He will just lie. He won't know if he's lying... hopefully. He says,

 

“I have always been able to shoot flames. I just didn't use the power before because I didn't have the need.”

 

Stiles gulps. He... he was lying and more importantly Stiles could _tell_ that he was lying. He had heard the jump in his heart rate, he had felt the sharpness in his breathing... he had... he had smelt it. What the flying fuck is going on? Stiles says,

 

“You're lying. How the fuck can I tell you were lying? I've never been able to do that before.”

 

Evil Stiles gulps. He guesses there is no point in lying, he's not going to be in Beacon Hills much longer anyway so he may as well arm this teenager with the truth. He says,

 

“Okay. You're... You're supernatural...”

 

(Gasp)

 

“You're something that's called a Spark. They are magical creatures... They do magic. Each of them have specialities such as water, air, earth, lightning... and flames. You are a flame spark... They are the most powerful but they are also the dark spark. They are typically evil, I have never met one that wasn't, it seems you are the exception.”

 

Stiles stares, wide eyed. He says,

 

“Evil? I'm not evil? Tell me more.”

 

“Well... They also have other abilities, quite like a werewolf. They heal, but very gradually if they don't know they're magic. If they do know they're magic they can focus healing. There eyes change colour when in battle or when their heart rate rises. They don't change into any other creatures. They can... sense emotions and smell emotions and hear heartbeats. They are cunning and smart and lust for power. They... they can't fall in love... at least I don't think they can. Really I don't know much about them. Normally you need to be taught by another Spark.”

 

Stiles breathes. That's a lot to take in. He's... He's a magical sparky creature that can heal, shoot flames, do magic, can't fall in love, hear heartbeats, emotions, and is probably evil. What. The. Fuck. Stiles says,

 

“Is there anything else you know?”

 

Evil Stiles continues,

 

“Well... they typically live for about three hundred years. They can't die of natural causes, they just get hunted down. Water Sparks and Air Sparks have lived much longer because they are perceived as good in the magical community but Flame Sparks don't seem to live very long because of how... well... evil they are. Sparks would be immortal if they never got attacked by people. There is a myth of an Earth Spark that has lived for five thousand years.”

 

Stiles can barely contain himself. So he is this magical creature and now he is immortal... kinda. He _can_ die but he _can't_ die of natural causes. He can't believe how calm he is right now. He just got told he is a very high powered boss creature type thing and he is not jumping for joy. He realises he has been staring at the wall for about a minute. Evil Stiles is losing his patience. He says,

 

“I mean... Oh my fucking god I am a flame spark? This is so... unbelievable! Anyway... How... Why is this happening now? Why wasn't I aware of flashing eyes, heartbeats, emotions, healing... Healing is really... I'm basically better than a werewolf... oh sorry. Why now?”

 

Evil Stiles rolls his eyes and says,

 

“Well. I could sense your untamed, unrealised potential and decided to possess you. For a while I was calmly seated but then your body realised I was bad and healed. It thought you were dying and it pushed me out of your system. This pushed your dormant abilities to the front of your mind. Somehow you had held them back.”

 

Stiles says,

 

“So _... you_ possessed me and then _I_ became powerful. That really has to be a kick in the guts. Um... You said you could 'sense' it. Why didn't the other supernatural creatures I hang with on a daily basis pick up on it?”

 

Evil Stiles sighed, how could a boy this clumsy become one of the strongest magical creatures ever known? He says,

 

“You're wolf friends couldn't. You had put walls around your powers inside your mind, to hide it from yourself. You are much stronger than them and to barely keep yourself from finding out would make it almost impossible for anyone else to.”

 

“Then how did you?”

 

“Luckily, you guys did some sort of sacrifice. Which was really idiotic by the way. And this weakened your system, so for a brief moment, you let your guards down. Then I awoke and to my surprise the first thing I sensed was a Flame Spark. I followed you and eventually took root inside you.”

 

He mumbles,

 

“Sorry about that but I didn't want to sink myself into any of those furry mutts.”

 

Stiles laughs,

 

“Whatever. So... you could tell because I basically died. Okay... um... You said before how most of the Flame Sparks you've met... or read about... were evil. Why am I not?”

 

“Interesting that. You say it as if you think 'you are evil because you are a Flame Spark'. This is incorrect. From what I have read, what Spark you become is decided by personality traits. These traits make up whether you are good or evil. As you say. Although, I see evil as a vague term, and don't think anyone is strictly good or evil. Anyway... So, basically it is not you are evil because of your Spark, it is that you are that Spark because you are evil.”

 

Stiles mulls this over. So, he's meant to be evil but isn't? He says,

 

“You still didn't answer my question.”

 

“Well, I believe you not being evil has something to do with you putting walls around your magic. Now that your walls are down... You may have some personality changes.”

 

Stiles quirks an eyebrow,

 

“So you're saying I am going to be evil?”

 

“That is very likely. Flame Sparks also cannot be in love. Do you now feel less in love with the people around you? Your walls may have changed that as well.”

 

Stiles stops and thinks. He still feels love for Scott and his father, but it is not as deep. It is as if it is draining away. And for a split second Stiles feels extreme panic. Evil Stiles continues, regarding Stiles' expression,

 

“It may not be true though. It is generally believed that Flame Sparks cannot feel love but it is not for certain. I am not an expert, really you should be talking to another Flame Spark but all of them were hunted long ago. I believe they are all dead, and no new ones have been able to live more than a few days before being found and hunted.”

 

Stiles breathes again, he is really truly alone in his world. Evil Stiles continues,

 

“Also, as you sink more and more into your magical self you will also feel less positive emotions of joy, love, empathy and more desires of lust, more anger, hatred, despair, and most of all the need for power.”

 

Stiles pauses. What will he become? He swallows. Breathes deeply. He will think about this later. He says,

 

“Is there anyway to put the walls back around my magic? Anyway to reverse this?”

 

“I'm afraid I don't know. It is probably possible but in a day or so you won't want to. You will enjoy the new you and feel free and alive. You will love your magic and you will learn to accept what you have become. I suggest you hold off on any drastic action for at least a day. Definitely don't tell your... (cough cough) pack... about this new development. They will research it and when you become evil will try to destroy you.”

 

Stiles falls down to the ground, back against the wall. So... he is a monster. He killed those people and this possession has released the real him. He can already feel himself start to pull away from the things he holds dear, it is ever so slow, it is ever so excruciating. It is like someone is slowly pressing a blade to his skin, at first he only feels pressure, then pain, and then he bleeds.

 

He can also feel magic filling up inside him, healing him. His sore throat is gone from coughing up the smoke and he feels less tired even though he hasn't slept. He feels a kind of power coursing through his veins, something he has never felt before. And it scares him, he is so afraid. And to make things worse, this emotion is amplified and he feels like he is at the bottom of a deep deep hole that he has dug for himself.

 

He says,

 

“Why did I put up the walls in the first place?”

 

“That is a real mystery. It may not have been you that did this. It is possible to push walls onto someone else's magic. Do you have a close family relative that is magic?”

 

Stiles shakes his head. Evil Stiles pauses, then continues,

 

“I also suggest you get a book or something. You will need to remember spells and record what's happening to you. Flame Sparks are the ones who are most likely to invent spells out of all the Sparks.”

 

Stiles pauses,

 

“Why are you helping me?”

 

Evil Stiles smirks, laughs, then continues,

 

“I may be a demon but we are alike Stiles. Your powers have been held back from you. You have been prevented from chaos. And boy do I love chaos. Too many Flame Sparks have died. It is unfair. Good is outweighing evil and I think, Stiles, that you may be able to help change some of that... Plus I would really like to be re-released back to the Underworld so I can find a new body to possess.”

 

Stiles laughs. That shouldn't have been funny. This demon was being serious. Crap. Stiles is basically being turned into a fully fledged psychopath. And what makes it worse is soon he won't even feel like that is a bad thing. Stiles pauses again,

 

“Then why did you try to kill me in the first place?”

 

Evil Stiles makes an _I thought it was obvious_ face, then sniggers.

 

“You would have killed me. I had possessed you. And Flame Sparks are ruthless and barely ever make deals, I thought since your magic had thrown me out that you had become... evil. I thought you were going to kill me. It was... It was self-defence.”

 

Stiles laughs. He says,

 

“Now that my... uh... walls or whatever are down, will the others know I am a Spark?”

 

Evil Stiles frowns,

 

“I don't know. I'd say what you need is a teacher but no one would teach someone like you. What you should try is meditation.”

 

Stiles laughs.

 

“No, I'm serious. Look up some techniques online and become one with your inner Spark. Then request being able to hide your scent so you can remain good-old-Stiles.”

 

“How will I...”

 

“It may sound impossible now but when you become... yourself, you will find you are a lot more cunning and able to connect to your magic. Just avoid your friends for a couple days while you work stuff out. Now, if you wouldn't mind, I believe we had a deal. You need to kill me.”

 

Stiles says,

 

“Its the least I can do, you answered all my questions and I did paralyse you. And... you freed me. Well... not freed but... I don't know. My inner self has some sort of gratitude to you so...”

 

Stiles leans down next to Evil Stiles. He places his hands upon his neck. Quickly takes a tight hold. He can feel his heartbeat quicken. There is no fear, there is only impatience. He presses harder, sees what expression covers his demon/ally. Soon enough Evil Stiles is trying and failing to breathe, eyes wide and body warm. Soon he stops, he is still, and then he deteriorates into blood and bone, then ash, then nothing. Stiles stares. He just killed someone.

 

He takes a breath. Falls down to the ground. Stiles is having a panic attack. He feels like he's going to die, that he can barely breathe, that everything is falling on top of him and he is being crushed. Frankly, he is surprised he didn't have one earlier... when he was being told he was a basically an immortal uber powerful magical super-villain.

 

He tries to breath. Hands smacking into the ground. He killed someone. Their life force was drained away under his hands. It wasn't... It wasn't really killing because the person wasn't a person and it was a replica of his own body, but it felt like killing. It felt like power. And that alone is fucking nuts.

 

Stiles lifts a hand then hits it down onto the cold cement surface over and over. The pain calming him, centring him. Its giving his mind a rush of endorphins to help him cope. He swore to himself long before this that he wouldn't... harm himself again. That was four years ago and that was before he got told he was magic, basically five seconds after a demon that possessed him was trying to kill him.

 

Soon his hand is broken. His left. It lies limp when he raises it, it hurts like a bitch. For a second he thinks it will just magically heal. He is proven wrong, it turns out he has to focus, whatever the hell that means. Stiles breathes. He stands up. Looks around again. He needs to find a way to get home and record everything he found out today, while at the same time not letting anyone know he's home. Except maybe his dad.

 

Stiles walks over to the door. The fingers on his left hand are curled and dripping with blood. Every time his emotions get too much he balls it into a fist. It makes him yelp with pain but it seems like all he can do to stay calm with his emotions like this. His bad emotions which are usually surprisingly calm are now out of control.

 

He tries to level his breathing. Okay. Everything will be okay. Even if I am a bloody murderer who is apparently fucking evil and won't be able to be happy or feel love any more. Hand squeeze. (yelp) He tries to make a to do list in his mind but ends up saying it out loud.

 

“First thing is to find out where I am. Second thing is to find a way home. Third thing is to write all of this down before I forget something important, maybe like the fact that I am an evil fucking wizard.”

 

Stiles breathes again, pushing his fingernails into his already bloody hand. (yelp) He continues,

 

“Fourth thing is to find out how to meditate and talk to... myself... my inner self? Then I can hide my scent and heal my bloody hand. Fifth thing is... to... um... test my powers. Yes. That seems like a good idea. And probably try to figure out how I can shoot fire from my hands which right now seems pretty fucking amazing.”

 

Stiles reaches the outside of the warehouse. So... when the demon was in control he remembers what happened but when his inner Flame Spark Thing was in control he doesn't? That makes a lot of sense. He looks around him. He knows this place. He's still in Beacon Hills, thank goodness.

 

He's at the high way. At a warehouse near the school. He starts to walk down back towards his home along the edge of the road. One car passes. It takes no notice of him. Stiles is surprised, he is a wreck. His clothes are ripped to shreds, exposing his chest and upper legs. One of his hands is broken and even though he no longer _feels_ tired, he's sure he still has large sagging purple bags under his eyes.

 

As he walks he thinks about what has happened over the last few weeks. While trying to remind himself of his plan at the same time. _So, in chronological order. 1. There was a Darach that kidnapped people's parents for a sacrifice. 2. Then to find the Nemeton I, Scott and Allison sacrificed ourselves? Well that was stupid. 3. In doing so this awoke a demon who sensed I was magic and possessed me. 4. Evil Me tricked everyone and killed everyone because... he likes to do that? He? 5. Then my magic sensed that the demon thing was bad and cured me. 6. Because of this my magic has now surfaced and I am now evil, magic, and can't love. SUPER!_

 

_Then what was the plan? My clever plan? It was something along the lines of get home, write all of this down, then meditate and heal myself and hide my scent, and then test my powers. Well, I am sure glad that not only do I have to walk for miles to get home, but then I'll have to tell my dad I'm not possessed but he still shouldn't go to Scott or any other werewolf... for some reason._

 

 _And why should I do this anyway? Sure, Evil Me Demon Guy said that they'd kill me if they found out but... would they? How can I trust him? Yeah okay, he couldn't have lied but he... Who am I kidding? Even now I can feel my trust for Scott fading. I can feel my love splitting away from me. In a few hours I won't care for him at all. I should respect, no matter how I feel now, that at the moment I am not_ really _myself and therefore should not be making any major decisions. I've been given heaps of information anyway, maybe I should rest my brain and let future me handle things._

...............................................................................................................................................................

Sheriff Stilinski had a normal day at work. He gets a lot more done nowadays now that he knows that three quarters of all his cases are because of the supernatural. It also makes his job easier because if he can't figure out a difficult case he can convince himself that it is a supernatural case and he wouldn't understand anyway.

 

The only thing that seems to be getting him down is that the new 'threat' in town is his own son. He's been possessed by some sort of dark spirit fox thing. Scott didn't explain it very well, he was half-way through explaining when Stiles killed a bunch of people. Sheriff Stilinski knows he should be more upset of what is happening to his son but he can't be.

 

He feels desensitised to it all. He has been through too much and the supernatural has finally broken him, and his family. So, now he just goes about his day pretending what is happening doesn't shake him to his core. He knows they will fix his son, he knows that. They always eventually fix the problem. So, really he shouldn't be worrying. But, in the back of his mind he knows he is lying to himself and that he actually does care.

 

He's sitting at his table reading the newspaper. His second glass of scotch is beside him. He shouldn't drink much but on nights like this it is hard to hold in all his emotions. On nights like this he feels like he's slipping. On night's like this he expects Stiles to walk through the door and try to help him with a case.

 

The Sheriff hears a knock on his door. He gets up. Its probably Scott, coming to inform him on what horrible act his son has committed but still reassure him that it wasn't _his_ son that did it. He reaches the door, turns the nob, it swings backward. For a second he doesn't believe it. For a second he thinks he's had more to drink than he remembered. For a second he thinks he's already asleep. But, he would never dream this. He would never tantalise his already broken self. Standing not a meter in front of him is Stiles. Not murderer old dark fox spirit Stiles, just _his_ Stiles.

…............................................................................................................................................................

For a moment his father just stares at him. Just looks at him like he's crazy. Stiles says,

  
“Can I come in?”

 

His dad continues to stare in shock. Well, he's taking this well. Stiles walks over and sits down in his usual seat. He sees an almost full glass of scotch on the table. His dad sits beside him. He says,

 

“Stiles?”

 

Stiles nods. Then suddenly he is locked in a firm embrace. His shirt is wet, tears falling on his shoulder. His dad is crying, sobbing, rambling.

 

“Oh my god I missed you so much I thought you were dead and then I heard you were killing people and then I heard it wasn't you no one was telling me anything and I never thought I would see you again _you_ not this monster you had become and I was so scared and I love you so much you know that right because you need to know how much I love you I didn't know...”

 

His dad pulls away. Rubbing tears from his eyes. It seems he finally broke after weeks in denial. Stiles' voice catches in his throat. Although over his walk his love for Scott had disappeared completely, his love for his father still remains. It is weak and fading but it is still there and Stiles feels the need to grasp onto it, even if it is slipping through his fingers. Stiles says,

 

“I love you so much dad. I do...”

 

His dad suddenly looks confused,

 

“I thought you were possessed. What happened? I'm glad you're here, I am, but I just don't understand.”

 

“I don't really either. I just woke up in an abandoned warehouse where it looked like a battle had taken place. I think... I think I beat the demon. I think I finally pushed him out of my mind. But, I don't really know what happened.”

 

Stiles lies, easily. It rolls off his tongue like raindrops down a child's cheek. His father nods. Then he sees the blood on his own shirt. After a few seconds of confusion his gaze finally rests on Stiles' broken hand. He looks alarmed. He gets up and walks over to the phone,

 

“We'd better call Melissa... And Scott... And the whole pack. We need to let them know you're okay and we need to fix up your hand.”

 

Stiles jumps up in hasty alarm. He says,

 

“No... Please don't. I... I need... to sort some stuff out in my head. I can't... I killed people, I can't deal with that. I can't see them.”

 

This wasn't really a lie. It was two truths; he had killed and he couldn't see them. The only real lie was making his father think the two were connected. The Sheriff puts down the phone, it beeps in approval as it hits the rest of its device. He says,

 

“Stiles... we can talk about it.”

 

“I don't want to.”

 

Stiles walks up to his room. It is as he left it. He pulls out a book. About to write. Then he realises the camera is still there. He sneakily moves so what he is writing can't be seen. The book is fairly small, it is A4 in size and can't be over 30cm in length. It has a light plastic cover and is about 200 pages. Stiles opens up the first page and pulls a pen from his desk.

 

_ Flame Spark Book of Stuff _

 

_What the demon who possessed me told me, summed up:_

_POWERS INCLUDE healing, magic, shooting flames out of my hands, smelling emotions, sensing heartbeats, eyes changing colours, meditation for talking to my inner self, can make spells, being sort of immortal. DISADVANTAGES (will they always be disadvantages?) Not feeling good emotions, can't love, being evil, lust for power, prejudice against my kind for some reason (probably the being evil bit), no one teaches flame sparks._

 

_I had walls around my magic for some reason. I'm a Flame Spark because I'm evil, I'm not evil because I'm a Flame Spark. I may be able to love but he doesn't know. There may be a way to put walls around my magic again but in a few hours I won't want to. Someone in my family could have been magic and they could have put walls around my magic. The demon guy may or may not be my ally now. Once I fully accept my magic I will feel better, more alive, stronger, and will be able to meditate. Meditation is important._

 

Stiles believes that is all his possessor told him. He is tired now, needs sleep. So he puts his book down under his bed and lets his head fall against the wall. Trying to calm himself, he once again pulls his broken hand into a tight fist. He lets out a sob. What did he do to deserve this? He feels sorry for himself for a moment and then completely falls apart. His head falls forward into his hands and he cries for a bit. He is a monster. He is evil. He wants... he wants power over all of Beacon Hills and in a few hours he will have lost the rest of his humanity. He is in a living nightmare and it takes all his willpower in the world not to try and kill himself right then. For some reason he has a strong sense of self preservation, the kind of thing you can't just ignore.

…............................................................................................................................................................

Stiles wakes up with sunlight gently filtering through his window. Its warm against his cheek, and when he opens his eyes they sting. Stiles feels... He isn't sure how he feels. He knows he feels different. He knows the love for his father has finally drained away and now an emptiness sits in the pit of his stomach. He knows what he needs to do today.

 

Stiles doesn't feel strong, or powerful. In that regard he is the same. But now, in his mind, he has a new desire. Before he wanted _to save the world. To protect people. To kiss Derek._ And now he wants _to rule Beacon Hills and all that lay within it, because the only way to be truly content is with power. And chaos. And confusion._

 

Stiles takes a breath and thinks. He feels like he should be shocked with this new desire, but instead he feels at ease. He brushes his thoughts away. Today he needs to convince his dad to keep his friends away longer, and he needs to 'talk to his inner self'. Stiles sighs. What a day!

 

He gets up. Showers. The water warm on his skin, making him tingle. He changes and heads down stairs. He expects to see his father, sitting alone, reading, maybe still asleep. Instead he sees someone he really doesn't want to see. Melissa McCall. She sits on the couch, holding a medical kit in her lap. She looks nice today. But, however nice she looks Stiles can't help but feel queasy, he knows what she represents. She represents death. If she comes here, finds out about Stiles. Finds out he's a Flame Spark. Stiles is dead. No question about it.

 

He continues walking. He needs to play it cool. If Scott isn't here yet then everything will be okay. Stiles heart seems to beat out of his chest. _Thud thud. Thud thud. Thud thud thud thud._ He can scarcely breathe. But, something inside him steadies him. Something anchors him. Something stops him from running. Something says to him _if you go now that will only be suspicious. They won't be able to tell unless one of them is a werewolf._

 

He walks over to her. He can hear her heart beat. Slow and steady, calm and composed. You can probably tell a lot about a person from their heart beat. Stiles is pounding like a drum. He will have to work out how to steady that as well. She looks at him.

 

“Hi Stiles. Why don't you take a seat?”

 

His dad looks away. Stiles almost glares but decides it would be best to play this as if he were overwhelmed and sad. Stiles starts to shake. That's convincing right? People shake when they're sad? He's seen someone shake when they were sad before. He takes a seat across from her. He turns to his father, and says in his most uncomposed voice he can muster,

 

“I... I said... I said I didn't want to... see... anyone after what I... did...”

 

He smiles internally. Judging by the expression on Melissa's face it was convincing. His father looks away, sad. Melissa kneels beside him, hand on his shoulder, and says,

 

“Stiles. It wasn't your fault. You were possessed. _You_ didn't do anything.”

 

Stiles sniffs. Melissa goes back to the couch and sits. She begins,

 

“I haven't told Scott yet. If you don't want me to that's okay, for the moment. But, its important that I take a look at your hand. You... Its broken. Can I take a look at it?”

 

Stiles nods, ever so slightly. She comes over once again, this time with her medical kit. She holds his hand, wipes off the blood. Prods it a bit. Asks him questions. And then she wraps it, places stilts, tells him not to use it. Then goes back to the couch. She talks once again.

 

“I know this must be very traumatic for you Stiles, but I need to ask some questions. Scott has informed me on the whole issue and explained everything. Frankly, I don't understand how you got un-possessed. Not that I'm not glad. I am _really_ glad and you are like a second son to me, but its important that we know. So, do you want to tell me from the beginning?”

 

Bitch.

 

Maybe this will be harder than he first anticipated. Melissa seems like a smart woman and she is fully aware of the supernatural. What would he say? He guesses he's going to have to make this up, but stick as close to the truth as possible. He begins,

 

“Well... I think it all started at the sacrifice. Which was really stupid by the way.”

 

Melissa nods.

 

“I... The last thing I remember was waking up in this abandoned warehouse. I woke up and then I coughed up some black smoke. From that smoke was a second me. He looked exactly like me but he was evil. We fought and it ended up with one of the support beams falling on him and paralysing him. Then I... I killed him. And then I went outside and found out I was still in Beacon Hills. I walked down the highway until I got back home.”

 

“How did you break your hand?”

 

“It must have been in the fight.”

 

He lies. Melissa nods.

 

“And do you remember anything else... from when you _were_ possessed? Not after.”

 

Stiles thinks back.  
  


“Its like I have two sets of memories. I have the memories from the demon... of everything he did and then I have memories of myself being trapped inside my own mind. And I remember... I remember all the people he...”

 

Stiles falls back, bringing his knees to his chest and pulling his arms around them. This ought to make him look broken. Melissa walks over again. Sits next to him. Holds an arm over his shoulder.

 

“Its okay Stiles. Its okay now.”

 

Stiles can't help but be repulsed by there intimacy. Of course, he doesn't let it show. Soon he has 'calmed' himself and Melissa has walked back over to her spot on the couch.

 

“Why don't you want to see Scott? Or the rest of the pack?”

 

Stiles shakes his head, still trembling.

 

“I... I can't see them yet... knowing what I've done... I can't face them...”

 

“Okay. Okay. See them in your own time.”

 

She coos. She turns to his father,

 

“Apart from his hand he looks completely fine. He's in a bit of shock as I'm sure you can tell but apart from that he should recover.”

 

Stiles then gets up and proceeds to go back to his room. He finds it hard not to break out into laughter at the situation. He had to pretend to feel guilty and sorry but really he doesn't give a shit. Why should he care? _He_ didn't kill them. So what, he has to memories. He shouldn't have to feel guilty for what he didn't do. He shouldn't have to feel guilty at all. He was born to be evil, why the fuck would he do anything any other way?

…............................................................................................................................................................

Meditation is fucking stupid. Stiles has realised this after three straight hours of sitting on his bed crossed legged and trying to 'calm his senses'. He swears that if the video tells him to 'accept his inner joy' one more time he is going to set it on fire, flame hands or not.

 

A creepy cackle echoes throughout Stiles' mind.

 

 _Inner self?_ He asks it.

 

 _Yeeeeeasssh?_ It calls back, in a very demonic and creepy way.

 

_Well, lovely to meet you, just wondering if you could, I don't know, tell me how to work my powers._

 

_Stiles... Stiles... You were born to be the destruction of Beacon Hills, born to be all powerful and all consuming. You are a vessel for ultimate destruction and death._

 

What can one really say to that? _Okey Dokey, good to know. Can you tell me how to use my powers now?_

 

_Do you promise to use them only for extreme evil?_

 

_Yeah. Sure. Whatever._

 

Suddenly it feels like the floodgates are open. A huge rush of endorphins and pleasure courses through Stiles, making his heart beat faster and nose flare in stimulation. His fingers tingle and his skin is flushed with warmth and a devouring need to take control of another.

 

_Wow._

 

_I know right, the first time I accessed our inner powers to save you from death in that pool with the kanima, I swear I almost had an orgasm._

 

_You're a bit creepy you know that?_

 

_Eh. I've been called worse._

 

_By who?_

 

_...you know... people..._

 

_You're actually crazy, aren't you? I've got a crazy inner self._

 

_It might explain your ADHD, I sorta did that just to mess with you all the time... plus I wanted to get high off of adderall... So..._

 

_Oh my fucking god! Just piss off!_

 

Stiles' apparently crazy inner self replies tauntingly, _Don't you want to know how to hide your scent?_

 

Stiles sighs in exasperation. Jesus. _Yeah. Obviously._

 

_Lol. I was kidding, I have no idea how to do that, I just control the magic... Can scent even be controlled? I think that demon guy was just messing with you._

 

_Shut up._

 

 _But... I'm so lonely._ The voice is definitely taunting him.

 

_Seriously shut up._

 

_Jesus, you'd think you'd be a bit smarter now... you know... just stop meditating._

 

_Did the meditating actually work?_

 

_Hell no. You have no clue how to meditate. I just took pity on you... myself... cause I was a bit bored._

 

_I'm going now._

 

Stiles opens his eyes, sighing in extreme annoyance, and shoots a fireball at the wall. He hears his inner voice squeak indignantly before quietening down.

 

First he finds out he's destined to be evil, and now he has a bloody crazy inner voice. Was the world just messing with him?

 


	2. The Call With Derek Hale (and Inner Voice's fanboy squeals)

It turns out being “some supervillain flame fox spirit thingy” – Stiles’ ingenious very calculated and diabolical name for the situation – is not all it’s cracked up to be. Meditation tastes like balls ( _but you wouldn’t mind licking a certain Sourwolf’s balls, aye?_ Stiles’ creepy Inner Voice likes to mentally suckerpunch him) and he has no clue other than “flame staring” – which is really just moody teen death staring – at the walls in the hopes that they would miraculously catch alight.

Stiles can’t exactly go ask the resident voodoo specialist Dr. Deaton about it either, since a) Deaton is vague as fuck and about as unhelpful as the image of Derek’s balls in his mind – _shut up inner weirdo_ – and b) Deaton would probably be able to sense Stiles’ newly gained evilness. He couldn’t leave the house to snatch any magic books from Deaton’s hideout either – in case a certain pack of do-gooders caught on – and the internet so far had only gleaned him with a (thorough) insight into werewolf porn.

Okay. He might have got sidetracked with all this discussion of Mr. My-Eyes-Will-Skin-You-Alive’s most intimate parts. Stiles had overestimated his evil capacities, and instead spent the better part of the day pretending to be sad so his dad gave him extra twinkies – the lack of health foods in the house was _suspect_ and Stiles is apparently evil now so his strict culinary laws should be obeyed by father-dear or _else_. Apart from his sinister manipulations and slightly queasy stomach from twinkie-overindulgence, Stiles spends his time ignoring his Inner Voice and ignoring fears that his best friend would soon inevitably tear him limb from limb. His sob story to Melissa would only last so long, after all, and Stiles quite likes all limbs intact.

He glares at the wall, yet again trying to cause some arsonist action which had hitherto failed.

_Derek can glare better._

His Inner Voice is unsurprisingly smug and inconsiderate of his villainous feelings. He mentally hisses,

_Shut up!_

_Call him._

_No._

_Caaaaaaaaall him._

_No way jose._

_C’mon, do it for mama, give him a quick call, he’ll know how to glare a wall into flames._

Stiles stubbornly tries to ignore his Inner Voice, deeply disturbed by its insinuation of motherhood and miffed that even his representation of his _soul_ didn’t believe in him.

_C’mon, ask him about his balls..._

The voice wheedles him further, digging under his skin. Stiles snarls, jumping up from the bed and pacing in very mature definitely not moody teen way. He throws his arms in the air, trying to imitate the Nogitsune from their hot and heavy one-on-one man-to-fox-spirit warehouse battle. It had been all very cool. He senses his soul’s disbelief. It _had been!_

His fingers quiver in the air.

He screws up his expression, determined beyond measure. If this works he’d be able to say “burn baby burn” and right now that is his only wish for life, everything he had ever wanted does not compare to this moment of sheer will and desire. His Inner Voice watches, curiously, alongside him. Stiles’ palms feel hot, he thinks that is a good sign.

No dice. Nothing happens.

He scowls as his Inner Voice cackles with glee – maybe _it_ did this on purpose, Stiles wouldn’t put it past it – and he thumps his desk angrily. He is supposed to be super wicked, this amazing flame spark overlord, yet that is not the reality. He can’t even shoot out a few puny wisps of flame!

_Call Deeeerrreeeekkk..._

Stiles sighs and reaches for his phone, flicking it open and scrolling through the contacts passive-aggressively.

_For the record I don’t agree with this._

It laughs raucously at him. He calls Derek, rolling his eyes at his Inner Voice’s thinly veiled excitement. It just wants him embarrassed, most likely wanting Stiles to inquire over the health of Derek’s scrotum or something ridiculously ridiculing like that. The voice stays suspiciously quiet.

Shit, that can’t be a good sign.

“Stiles?”

Derek’s voice could not get more put upon. He sounds as if Stiles is just _not what I want to deal with today_. He hasn’t even said anything yet and the angsty werewolf is already exasperated.

“’Sup my wolfy friend?”

Stiles can feel Derek’s eye roll from his room, all the way across town.

“I don’t know Stiles, you tell me. You’re the one who called me. What is it?”

Stiles almost wishes he could just come out and admit that he had turned into Beacon Hill’s latest supernatural issue, but that would spoil all the fun. He grins with shark teeth, orchestrating his voice to play in an innocent Stiles-like register,

“Aw, don’t want to hear from me, but aren’t we BFFs?”

Derek is silence itself, or would be if silence were an unimpressed thirty year old with abandonment issues. How fitting that Stiles is a _flame_ spark considering the methodology of his family’s demise – it certainly is poetic that Derek would be the one to help Stiles dominate the city.

Stiles continues as Derek’s silence enters the awkward stage, any longer and the gruff-wolf would most likely hang up,

“I’ve got a hypothetical for you.”

Derek’s eyebrow, quite like his magnificent eye roll, traverses time and space as it raises itself in question.

“Say, oh I don’t know, we encounter a spark which needs to access their powers, and as good citizens of good ol’ Beacon we’d be obliged to help a wayward innocent...? Do you have any books on the subject?”

His gruff voice sends shivers down Stiles’ spine. He wonders why his Inner Voice has taken now to be as unobtrusive as possible – what is its game?

“I thought you were possessed.”

Stiles blinks. He’d almost forgotten about that, the old possession gambit. It had completely slipped his mind somehow. He imagines that Derek does not appreciate possibly being contacted by an intrusive Nogitsune which a penchant for cold-blooded murder. Stiles rambles,

“Oh, you know how it is, overthrowing internal darkness with swagger, waking up without memory in an abandoned warehouse, before being flooded with the realisation that I was singlehandedly responsible for the untimely unexistence of innumerable innocents. I’m always in such a hurry to let everyone know I’m fine, not like I’m traumatised or binging on twinkies or...”

“You okay?”

If Stiles wasn’t the newest traitor in town he could’ve sworn that’d been honest to god concern in Mr. Grumpy-is-my-first-name-I’ll-have-you-know’s voice. His timbre thrums under his skin, hot and cold as if in his hand is a flame being snuffed and simultaneously ignited by cubes of ice. His stomach decides to take a holiday, and the world lurches at the warm fuzziness that swirls inside him.

“Erm, I, uh, y-you know, cool.”

Stiles pukes up words, choking on air and any paltry samples of cool-factor he may had managed to gain in the past day or so. His face is bright red, with all the swagger of a drunken tortoise – it’s something he doesn’t like to consider unless he is also inebriated.

“Come over, and I’ll have the books. Bye.”

Derek Hale in all his anti-social glory hangs up without another word, without waiting for Stiles’ no doubt deathly witty response that would defy expectation.

_Oh. My. GOD! Marry me, ohmygod, we’re going there tomorrow, feel his balls, do it, ohmygod, its fate, I love him, oh please, oh Mr. Derek Sir please take off my panties-_

Stiles’ soul appears to be having a meltdown of epic proportions, and begins to detail a very gory sex scene which may or may not have been inspired by copious amounts of werewolf porn. Stiles lays back down on the bed and has a premonition of his demise.

He’s fucked.

How, on earth, can he find his way to Derek’s house without being caught out and lynched?

_You’re fucked._

It only makes his Inner Voice squeal, and Stiles misses when it had been acting crazy and all “do you promise to commit extreme evil?”

/\/\\\//\\\\\///\\\\\\\////\\\\\///\\\//\/\


End file.
